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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and horrible . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. The threats exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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